


I Didn't Sign Up For This Mess

by nikkiscarlet



Series: The GO Project: For Science, For Justice, For Fun . . . But Mostly For Love. [1]
Category: Pokemon GO
Genre: Blanche using feminine (she/her) pronouns, Everyone is bi/pansexual and nothing hurts, F/F/M, Fem!Blanche, Multi, Polyamory, Team Leaders sassing each other, daddy willow, explicit makeouts but not quite sex, grad school, tw: calorie tracking, tw: character suspected of maybe having an eating disorder (but not actually having one), tw: undereating/poor health choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8890339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkiscarlet/pseuds/nikkiscarlet
Summary: The GO program is, at its heart, one academic's pet project to protect Pokémon and give the finger to Team Rocket. Blanche, Candela and Spark are its star pupils. Blanche never, ever expected it to involve FEELINGS, dammit!As the school year carries on, Blanche is forced to confront her growing affections for both of her fellow leaders, as well as the growing threat of Team Rocket endangering all of their dreams.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Measured_Words](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Measured_Words! 
> 
> In your prompts, you asked for the Grad School picture. I wrote from experience rather than research (time crunch :( ), and based the characters’ experiences around what I know from my and my friends’ experiences learning and working in a Canadian university. So, while my intention is for this story to be read as being set pretty much anywhere you’d like it to be, I do apologize if anything looks odd from a non-Canadian perspective! In any case, I hope you enjoy! <3

“You’re staring at his butt again,” Candela murmured into Blanche’s ear.

 

Blanche scowled slightly even as she felt her face grow warm, but she kept her voice even and cool. “My eyes were unfocused,” she said. “He just happened to be in the way of where they were pointing.”

 

“Funny how your eyes were unfocused and moving at the same time. Tracking exactly the same path across the room as his ass.”

 

“Did you say something, Candela?” Professor Willow looked back at the two of them from the student lounge’s bay window, having just released a small flock of Pidgeys from what had affectionately been dubbed “The Re-Coop.”

 

“We’re just admiring the view, Professor.” The words sounded innocent enough, but the leer she draped across them most certainly was not.

 

Willow was either oblivious, or very good at pretending. “It is a beautiful sight, isn’t it?” He smiled out the window at the Pidgeys making their way into the clear, blue sky. “They may be a little overpopulated at the moment, but people really don’t appreciate Pidgeys enough. I’m glad this group got to meet each other. They’re a family now.”

 

Candela chuckled. “Been spending a lot of time with Spark, I take it?”

 

A reluctant, knowing smirk spread across Willow’s face. “Yes,” he admitted. “Can’t really avoid him. He’s on the no-fix warpath again. He does make a good point, though: breeding is a major part of the social makeup of . . . just about any species, really, and our spay/neuter program may well affect that in unforeseen ways, at least in some groups.” He held out his hands in a frustrated, helpless gesture, grasping at the air and shaking it. “But _that’s why we tag them for observation!_ ”

 

“Pssh. He just wants more eggs to play with.”

 

“Well, it’s not like Pidgey eggs are in short supply at the moment. If he has a better idea for bringing the ecosystem back into balance, then he can bring it to me. Until then, he’s— . . . coming this way. Excuse me.” Willow made haste for the door at the back of the room, but through the opposite entrance, Spark’s voice was already sailing in loud and clear, along with the sound of his new Heelys rolling up to the door.

 

“Prooo-FESS-SAH!” Spark’s hand smacked hard against the door frame to stop himself, and he pointed across the room at Willow. “HEY! I see you there! I have a question and as our supervisor you have to help me.”

 

Willows shoulders sank as he exhaled audibly. But to his credit, he wore a warm smile as he turned back around. “What do you need, Spark?”

 

“Okay, hear me out,” said Spark, gliding his way across the lounge, past the table where Blanche and Candela sat, to where Willow stood. “A _translator._ We get the computer science team to leave the GO app alone for the moment and start working on a translation program – maybe one we can add to the GO app later – so we can actually communicate _fully_ with our Pokémon. We pull in a linguistics team and get the psychology, kinesiology and veterinary science students to study the language and body language of each species. We’re already halfway there when we have strong enough bonds with them anyway, and they understand _us_ well enough. We just have to take it to the point of full, two-way communication.”

 

Professor Willow had the look about him like he was equal parts impressed and underwhelmed. Presumably, he’d been expecting something more outlandish. “That’s actually a pretty interesting idea, Spark,” he said. “A bit far removed from your thesis, though. I’m not sure you’re going to have time to head up two projects, and you’re already so far along with your hatching work.”

 

“Nah, I wasn’t saying I’d head it up. Not this year, anyway. I just think it’s something we should take on.”

 

“Well, if we get the funding for it, sure.”

 

“And then,” Spark continued, “Once we’ve got a reliable translator, we call in representatives of all the overpopulated Pokémon species and we _talk_ to them about the issue, and help them find solutions that would help limit their numbers without resorting to surgery.”

 

Blanche and Candela watched the strained ‘aaaaaand there it is’ smile stretch across Willow’s face. Candela snorted a little.

 

 “We can talk about it later,” Willow said, giving Spark’s shoulder a couple of pats.

 

“Hey, man,” said Spark, “Just to give you some perspective here, my other idea involved a time machine.”

 

Willow chuckled. “You’re full of ideas, Spark.”

 

Spark grinned – half-charmingly, half-cockily – and leaned on a nearby shelf. “Yeah, that’s why you need to keep me around.”

 

“I won’t be able to keep you around if you crack your skull open.” Willow’s voice took on an authoritative, no-nonsense tone. “Take those Heelys off, please.”

 

As if to illustrate Willow’s point, Spark’s left leg rolled out from under him, and his right followed suit when he tried to compensate. He grasped at the book case to steady himself, and for a harrowing, flailing moment it rocked dangerously, raining a few heavy texts down on his shoulders and head. Willow rushed over and stabilised the book case with one arm, and scooped Spark up with his other, pressing his weight against both for additional support.

 

Once Spark and the book case were stilled, there was a moment of absolute silence in which Spark and Willow simply stared, wide-eyed, at one another. Willow was the one to eventually break the spell, as he cocked his head slightly to one side and lifted an eyebrow, silently saying, ‘See?’

 

“Y—yes, sir,” Spark breathed, just loudly enough for Blanche and Candela to hear the awe in his voice.

 

Another, heavier pat to Spark’s shoulder, and a weary sigh. “There’s a good boy.” With that, Willow released his grip on Spark, and made his exit with all three of his students’ gazes trailing after him. Shortly after he’d left the room, Spark’s feet rolled out from under him again, but this time more gradually, as he slid down the book case to the floor, looking dazed.

 

“Smooth moves there, buddy,” Candela teased.

 

Spark’s head lolled in her and Blanche’s direction, and with a look of deep befuddlement and a hushed tone, he wondered aloud, “I . . . Is this what princesses feel like?”

 

Candela grinned and put her chin in her hands. “His hotness does things to you too, huh?”

 

The crease in Spark’s brow deepened and his eyes grew glassier. “He held me in his manly-as-fuck arms and called me a good boy and I felt tingly in my little girl places and I didn’t even know I _had_ little girl places.”

 

Blanche rolled her eyes, picked up her tablet, and started heading in the direction of the closest exit.

 

“Oi, don’t you go acting all high and mighty,” said Candela with a smirk. “You can’t tell me that if given half the chance you wouldn’t let him go all bodice-ripper on you.”

 

Blanche fixed Candela with a withering stare over her shoulder. “Even _if_ Professor Willow had any interest in either of you, he wouldn’t act on it, because he’s a professional and a good man who wouldn’t use his position of authority to take advantage of his students. Talking about him the way you are is disrespectful, and I’m embarrassed to be in here with you while it’s happening. He could overhear.”

 

Candela shrugged. “Sure, he might. And I’d hope he’d feel flattered. Just as I’d hope you’d feel flattered if you overheard me talking about your gorgeous legs.” She winked, but her smirk was softer than Blanche could really bring herself to criticize.

 

“You do have nice gams, Blanche,” Spark piped up, distracted halfway through by the sound of his phone chirping. “Oop, appraisal.”

 

“I don’t know how you can muster any enthusiasm for those anymore,” Candela groaned. Spark shushed her as he took the call. Blanche decided to stick around and listen in. She’d noticed something about his appraisals lately, and wanted to see if he’d follow the pattern.

 

“Hey there, Jimmy. I see you got yourself a new Spearow there. Aaaand you named him ‘Cock’, because of course you did.” He paused a moment to smirk wryly up at Blanche and Candela. They both knew him well enough to know that it wasn’t that he was unimpressed by the fact that it was likely the hundredth dirty double-entendre he’d been sent this week – rather, just that he didn’t think the dirty double-entendre was creative enough.

 

“Okay, buddy, lemme examine your Cock.” He paused to tap at his screen for a moment, bringing up Cock’s stats in the Pokédex and analyzing it for a moment.

 

“ . . . Jimmy, you got the tiniest Cock I’ve ever seen. And believe me, this past week, I’ve seen a lot of Cocks.”

 

Blanche kept listening, even as she pulled up some files on her own tablet.

 

“ . . . No, no I didn’t say that! I don’t think you need to bring your Cock to the Professor at all! Overall, I’d say your Cock can battle with the best of ‘em! I mean, yeah, he’s tiny, but . . . it’s not about the size, man, it’s the skills. The tininess of your Cock might actually be an advantage: he can move fast, and he’s harder to hit! And, in all seriousness, it looks like he’s got decent defense. I think you got something special, there. Yeah! Be proud of your Cock!” He chuckled down at the screen. “All right, later, buddy.”

 

Once he’d finished up his call, he struggled to his feet, in spite of the fact that he was still wearing his Heelys. Once he was more or less standing steady, Blanche spoke up.

 

“Why are you lying to your trainers?”

 

Spark froze, then his brow furrowed. “I’m . . . not?”

 

“You’re certainly exaggerating at the very least,” she pressed. “That Pokémon’s defense was nothing to write home about.”

 

Spark awkwardly straightened his jacket. “ . . . Wasn’t _bad_ , either.”

 

“It was thoroughly average, and being such a small Pokémon, that’s a disadvantage against certain types.”

 

“It’s a flying type. It can dodge. Or fly away.”

 

“Spark, you know how Pokémon are when they bond with a trainer. They do anything they can to please them. That Spearow could get seriously hurt if his trainer is the competitive type!”

 

Candela, though fascinated with the conversation, shrugged. “He’s an Instinct trainer, so probably not.”

 

Spark ignored Candela’s comment and kept his focus on Blanche. “Okay, can we just backtrack for a moment and talk about how you’re apparently pulling up stats from teams that are _not_ Mystic?”

 

Blanche was unperturbed. “Anything shared to the main Pokédex is kept in a singular database. Our access to the data is set by default to filter only our own teams’ information to us for the sake of convenience and streamlined work flow, but there is no restriction on seeing anyone else’s information. I often reference the full database in my work with Pokémon evolution. Why are you lying to your trainers?”

 

“Ughh, look, it’s fine,” said Spark. “I saw the numbers, and I thought, ‘ehh, he’ll be okay’. Maybe you disagree, but it’s not your call. They’re my team.”

 

“So what you’re saying is, the reason your team doesn’t take many gyms is because you suck at appraisal and are too stubborn to take criticism or advice?” Candela grinned.

 

Spark finally did rise to the bait. “We may not take as many gyms as your teams – _yet_ – but you know what? We catch the most Pokémon, and we hatch the most eggs.”

 

“Quality over quantity.”

 

“How very Team Rocket of you.”

 

Candela looked stricken. “Fuck you,” she said. “That’s not what I meant. I meant quality _time._ If your kids are running around grabbing up any Pokémon they can find, they’re not spending time with the ones they have. So either they’re sending any random Pokémon into the gyms completely green, or they’re letting them languish in their Pokéballs.”

 

“Or they actually know that variety is a good thing, and believe in their Pokémon’s innate abilities, and trust their own instincts as trainers to know which Pokémon has the right stuff to help them in the right situations.”

 

“Yeah, but the numbers don’t show that, do they?”

 

“Candela, it doesn’t matter, okay? Gym battling isn’t the end-all, be-all for all Pokémon, or even all trainers. It isn’t even the main goal of our initiative. Professor Willow started this whole thing because Team Rocket was fucking up the natural order by hoarding as many rare and powerful Pokémon as they could find, right? Our job is to balance the ecosystem back out by offering the kids who’d otherwise join Team Rocket an alternative. We give them the knowledge and tools to take _any_ Pokémon and give them a chance to shine – maybe in battle, maybe just as a buddy. All I’m saying to my trainers is to give every Pokémon they meet a chance to show them where their natural talents lie.” His phone chirped again. He maintained a pointed frown as he dug into his pocket to retrieve it, but as soon as he answered the call, he was back to his smiling self. “Hey there, Sally!”

 

“I’d like to know when they’re getting the time to bond with each of the hundreds of individual Pokémon they pick up,” Candela muttered, more to Blanche than to Spark. Spark, however, was the one to answer.

 

“It’s called a party. Now, if the two of you will excuse me, Sally here wants to show me her Pussy, and I’m excited to see it.”

 

He dabbed, blew them both a raspberry over his elbow, and skated out the door with his arms still pointing skyward.

 

“He’s sabotaging his own team,” murmured Blanche.

 

Candela shrugged, stood, and stretched. “More gyms for Valor.”

 

Though tempted to counter with ‘you mean Mystic’, Blanche held her tongue. Instead, she said, “It could also mean more gyms for Rocket. We really do need _all_ of the GO teams performing at their best to keep Rocket down, and maintain the sponsorships that are funding our programs. Instinct may not be the best gym performer overall, but they do have some impressive trainers in their ranks who are definite assets.”

 

“Those trainers aren’t the ones who’d be impacted by Spark’s shitty advice,” said Candela. “Just newbies, really. More experienced trainers rarely ask for assessments.”

 

“I suppose . . . ” Blanche conceded. Then, with some puzzlement, she felt Candela’s fingers close around hers and lift them delicately. Betraying her surprise only with a blink, she looked in Candela’s direction to find her on one knee, holding up Blanche’s hand with her left hand and placing her right hand over her heart.

 

“Worry not, Fair Lady,” she intoned, regarding Blanche with heavily-lidded eyes and a debonair half-smile. “Team Valor can more than compensate for any gaps that Team Instinct may or may not leave. The GO initiative is safe in our hands.”

 

Blanche kept her eyes locked on Candela’s, but tilted her face in the direction of the door and gently slipped her hand from Candela’s grasp. Allowing herself the tiniest of smirks, she responded, “I think you’ll find Team Mystic can take care of things well enough on its own, but thank you for your concern.”

 

“Oh, really? I’ll make you a wager,” said Candela, still regarding her with a playful fire flickering in her eyes. “If Team Valor has taken the most gyms by the end of this semester . . . you’ll take me out to dinner.”

 

Blanche couldn’t stop her eyebrows from twitching upward at that, but the rest of her face remained deadpan. “If you’re in poor financial straits, you don’t have to hide it behind a bet: I’d be happy to buy you some groceries.”

 

“What’s the matter, Blanche? Is your confidence in your team so low you won’t even bet in their favour?” Candela’s grin broadened. “I guess I don’t blame you.”

 

“My team has more trainers than yours does. It would hardly be fair.”

 

“And yet we’re neck and neck in gym holdings, at last count.”

 

“I don’t see the point of a bet. I’m happy enough if all three of our teams continue to keep Team Rocket’s gym holdings at a minimum. That, to me, is victory.”

 

Candela stood, making a fist and grinning brightly. “That’s exactly why we _should_ have a bet. It’d renew our motivation to keep our trainers at their best and edge Team Rocket out of the leagues completely.”

 

Blanche couldn’t fault her logic. “What would I get if I won?”

 

“I take _you_ to dinner.”

 

“I don’t want that.”

 

“Oh?” Candela sauntered closer. “Then what do you want?” She brushed a strand of Blanche’s hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear.

 

Blanche made a point of looking Candela up and down before smiling a little and stating, “I don’t think you have anything I want.” Then she looked down at her tablet, pulling up her work again.

 

“I think that’s a lie,” said Candela.

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

Candela drew Blanche’s chin back up to look at her with a single finger. “You play the Ice Queen,” she said, “but that’s the thing about Pokémon trainers: we get very good at reading body language. You may be better than most at keeping yours contained and controlled, but . . . . ” She traced her finger up Blanche’s jawline a little. “Well. I’m very good at what I do, too.”

 

Blanche didn’t move, other than to jut her chin out a little and ask, “And what is my body language telling you right now?”

 

Candela chuckled, like she’d just been shown an amusing cat video. “That if I weren’t who I am, you’d have decked me by now.”

 

Blanche didn’t say whether Candela’s reading was accurate or not. Her eyes wandered the room, and her brows knitted in thought. After a moment, she said, “If I win . . . ”

 

“Yes?” Candela prompted.

 

“ . . . If Team Mystic claims the most gyms . . . I reserve the right to make one as-yet-unspecified request of you, and you have to carry it out, regardless of what it is.”

 

Candela seemed amused by this, as well. “You really don’t know what you want, do you?”

 

“We don’t have to do this at all,” Blanche offered.

 

“Oh, no,” said Candela. “I’m intrigued. I like surprises.”

 

“Then you would agree to that?”

 

“I would. In fact, I’d like to change my prize to the same thing. If Team Valor claims the most gyms, I get one as-yet-unspecified request that you have to carry out, no matter what.”

 

“I must stress the stipulation that it won’t count as a victory if the ‘winner’ comes second to Team Rocket. In that case, the bet would be null and void.”

 

“I wholeheartedly agree, although I don’t see that being a problem. Right now they’re trailing behind Instinct by a wide margin.”

 

“Nevertheless.”

 

“Fair enough. I agree to your terms.” Candela held out her hand, and Blanche took it. After the compulsory handshake, Candela turned Blanche’s hand upward again, bowed slightly, and placed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

 

“Just know that I always play to win,” she told her.

 

Blanche smiled. “But, if you’ll recall, I never lose.”

 

“Then I guess we’ll see what happens when the unstoppable force meets the immovable object.”

 

“So it would seem.” Blanche decided that this, finally, was her opportunity to exit, and so she took it, turning back towards the door and hastening toward it. When she reached the doorway, however, she turned back once to look at Candela, who was busying herself with some work of her own, jotting things down in a spiral notebook. She was smiling softly to herself, and swaying her hips to a little song she was humming.

 

Clearly, in Candela’s own mind, she’d already won.

 


	2. Chapter 2

A month after making her bet with Candela, Blanche had collapsed in front of the doorway of her dorm room a little after 4 a.m.

She’d been working extra hard to maintain Mystic’s current, slight lead in gym holdings, alongside all her other responsibilities and research. She was proud of her team, usually – except for the infrequent occasions she’d have to take some of them to task for graffiti, or for baiting Valor trainers into brawls. But such instances, as well as the day-to-day interactions involved in running the teams, were what tended to take the most out of her, at the end of the day.

Blanche had never exactly been what anyone would call a “people person.” In all honesty, she’d been relieved and elated when she first learned that Professor Willow had accepted her as a Research Assistant for the Pokémon Guardianship and Observation (GO) program. Everything she’d read about the position leading up to it had emphasized leadership and teamwork – things that, generally speaking, she preferred to eschew in favour of actually getting work done – and so she’d admittedly been a bit nervous about the question of her leadership capabilities coming up in the interview process, and had prepared a practiced, polished response ahead of time.

It had apparently worked, as she – alongside two other graduate students whose names were whispered with just as much awe and envy as her own – was ultimately selected for the most coveted and competitive Research Assistant position offered as employable options alongside their degree: the GO Team initiative.

If the project was successful, their names would be immortalized as the founding leaders of their respective league teams, which would look good on a résumé. If the project was _especially_ successful, at least where funding was concerned, Professor Willow would be able to keep them on as permanent employees of GO Labs after they finished their degrees. This was desirable not only for the job security, but because each of the team leaders was genuinely passionate about the work and wanted to continue with it.

As it currently stood, Willow had enough funding to keep at least one of them on after their studies completed, at least as a part-timer. The goal, however, was to ensure funding for much further expansion, with full-time positions not just for the Team Leaders, but for the other employed positions as well, such as the GO App team. Willow had a big vision: a non-profit, academic institution set up to do what the rest of society was failing to do: protect and nurture Pokémon, and help take down the criminal organization Team Rocket. Or at least humiliate them a little. All the while, research and study of Pokémon and their relationships with humans would maintain the project’s academic credentials.

As such, the GO project was an interdisciplinary endeavour. Willow had taken on graduates of veterinary science, environmental science, history, psychology, archaeology, computer science, and kinesiology. If you’d studied in more than one of those subjects, so much the better. Blanche, herself, had double-majored in veterinary science and psychology during her undergraduate years.

She thought she’d be prepared for the graduate school work load. She’d been wrong, apparently.

She woke briefly when she felt a cold snout snuffling at her cheek, nose and lips, and the concerned tones of her Vaporeon’s voice. She’d cracked open her eyes, unable to keep them open consistently against the harsh morning light, stroked his head a little and mumbled, “Oh, I have to feed you, don’t I?” But as she tried to pull herself, aching, off the floor, she’d felt the rush of blood sinking out of her head and into her lower extremities, and a shortness of breath. The room spun. She laid back down, muttering, “Just a minute,” and passed back out promptly afterward.

Even more important than their academic background, the GO Team Leaders needed to be extraordinary Pokémon trainers, as well, if they were to lead teams of trainers to victory in the tournament circuit. Blanche had had a fairly high-profile childhood and adolescence as one of the star Gym Leaders of the tournament scene in her time, and it was technically through those competitions that she’d first met Candela and Spark, although mostly only in passing. She didn’t get to know either of them personally until just before the start of the GO program, during orientation. But she did remember their training and battling styles.

Candela was a force to be reckoned with: someone with intimate knowledge of both her Pokémon and the art of battling. And ‘art’ is a key word in this case, because in her youth, Blanche had tended to play things a little too technical and a little too safe, and had nearly lost to Candela, who was more creative and boundary-pushing. Candela pushed her Pokémon hard, but never beyond what she knew they could handle. Her tendency was to keep her team of Pokémon small, sticking with a few particular favourites, whom she treated almost like her children. This meant that her Pokémon were exceptionally strong, experienced, and as fiercely loyal to her as she was to them, but that she could easily be thrown off guard by an opponent’s unexpected pick, which was what had ultimately allowed Blanche to successfully defend her gym against her. Nonetheless, she’d taken away some valuable lessons in both creativity and love for her Pokémon from the experience.

She very briefly woke up again when she felt a pair of arms slide beneath her and lift her into a warm, cradled position. She was too out of it to be conscious of anything other than that warmth, and had simply snuggled into it and returned to unconsciousness.

Spark, in stark contrast to Candela, was . . . frankly unpredictable. She’d only battled him once, but as with everyone she faced in the arena, she had studied some of his other battles leading up to theirs. He didn’t keep to much of a consistent pattern, relying mostly on in-the-moment improvisation and cues from his Pokémon. Blanche had even wondered originally if he’d ever studied Pokémon typology or battle techniques, or if he’d just showed up at a gym one day and happened to win his first battle on pure dumb luck, then carried on learning as he progressed to the top. Only two commonalities tended to present themselves in the majority of his battles: the first being that he was a charismatic showman who could win over a crowd – and even some of his opponents – before the battle even began, and the second being that he seemed to take an almost perverse pleasure in pulling out some kind of big or ironic surprise right around the battle’s climax – be it a rare, powerful Pokémon nobody knew he had, or a seemingly ridiculous choice that would turn out to be brilliant. Which, she supposed, was in line with his sense of showmanship.

Her strategy against him was twofold. The first step, which was her standard modus operandi by that point anyway, was to keep an entirely cool head and not allow herself to be distracted by – or even really react to – any of his tricks. The second step was somewhat unconventional for her at the time, but had worked: she’d simply stolen his spotlight. She had trained up three of her most beautiful and talented Pokémon to not only fight well, but perform dazzling displays upon entering the ring. As luck would have it, she’d recently acquired her Articuno before meeting Spark in battle, and so had been able to surprise him and the observing audience with it just as he was pulling his third Pokéball out of his bag. A cold and heavy fog filled the arena to the point where both trainers could barely see each other, until Articuno made its appearance, soaring out of the mist in a shower of glittering snow to the awe of all present, including Spark.

Spark had still nearly won, however. For all she’d outshone and distracted him, he’d still managed to knock her off balance with one little stunt near the end of the match, long enough that his Snorlax had been able to hit Articuno with a surprise Body Slam. But she’d quickly recovered, and ordered the final Icy Wind that would send Snorlax back to sleep.

Knowing a trainer’s battle style was usually a good way to get a read on their personality. The three had grown and matured since first meeting in tournament settings, and their fighting styles had similarly gained maturity and nuance in the intervening years, but hadn’t changed completely. Thus, she had some idea going in to the program about the kinds of people she’d be working with . . . but in Spark’s case, she may have somewhat misjudged him from the start. The flashy, clumsy battle style she remembered from their youth had her convinced he was likely something of a con artist or insufferable egomaniac.

The belief had initially been reinforced during their first week, during which she’d watch him strut around larger than life like some sort of rock star in his faux-leather jacket and spiked hair, with that LOUD VOICE he never seemed to be able to FULLY CONTROL when HE WAS EXCITED. It was like he was still fourteen. Or ten. It only got worse for him in her mind when she’d taken her first lunch with Candela, and Candela had offhandedly mentioned that Spark had pulled the very same stunt during a battle with her that had so unnerved Blanche during her own battle with him. Honestly: if you’re going to use psychological warfare in a public setting, at least don’t repeat your tactics!

She’d been a bit cold with him from the start, as a result. But over time, she came to realize that her initial reading of him had been wrong.

When her eyes drifted open again, she was lying on her back on a much more comfortable surface than the floor, and covered with a blanket. She’d taken in a sharp breath through her nose and shook her head to clear the remaining fog. The light around her was clearly artificial. She had no idea what time it was, but as her eyes adjusted to consciousness, she realized she was on a cot in what looked to be the infirmary.

. . . For Pokémon.

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” Nurse Joy’s gentle voice drew her gaze to her left, where she was standing with a cup in one hand and two bottles of pills in the other. “I was going to leave these just beside you, but now that you’re up I might get you to take them now. No, no, don’t get up too fast, sweetie.” Joy lightly pressed down on her shoulder to keep her from sitting up. “You’re likely to feel pretty lightheaded, still. You should wait until you’ve taken these and had something to eat. I’ll give you some extra pillows so you can sit up a little.” She put down the cup and pills, and hurried to the opposite end of the room where she could pull some extra bedding out of a closet.

“Why am I here?” asked Blanche when Joy came back with her pillows.

“Well, your Vaporeon came running in here this morning sounding very agitated. When I tried to find out what was wrong, he started leading us to the door, then out of the building and straight to your living room.” She couldn’t suppress a lightly amused chuckle. “It’s rather sweet, really: he just knew you weren’t well and knew that I was the person to go to when not feeling well. Of course it wouldn’t occur to him that I specialize in Pokémon, not people.” She handed Blanche the cup of water and two pills. “However, I do know the symptoms of exhaustion and malnourishment when I see them. Take these vitamins and supplements. Your breakfast is on its way.”

“Why bring me all the way here, though?” asked Blanche, obediently downing the pills that were handed to her. “Surely my bed would have been more convenient.”

“I wanted to run a few tests with our instruments to be sure it wasn’t something more serious,” said Joy, speaking a little louder over the bustle of someone else entering the room.

“That and I knew your nerdy ass would freak out about not being at school by now, so I brought you here. Hey.” Spark grinned softly down at her. Vaporeon was balanced across his shoulders, and he was holding two large paper bags that immediately filled the room with the potent aroma of takeout food. A Meowth and a Pidgeot were drawn over by the smell, but Vaporeon paid no interest to it upon laying eyes on Blanche. He leaped from Spark’s shoulders onto Blanche’s cot, whimpering a little and stepping up on to Blanche’s lap, sniffing at her with a worried expression.

“I’m all right,” she told him, stroking under his ears. “Thank you very much for looking out for me, Vaporeon! You did so well!”

Vaporeon beamed and dove into her arms, nuzzling her cheek. She hugged him with genuine gratitude and affection, but turned her attention to Spark. “What time _is_ it?” she asked him, tensing a little with dread.

“Time for food!” he replied after slipping Meowth and Pidgeot a couple of morsels. He carted the bags over to her cot and plunked himself down on the edge of it to begin spreading the meal out for her. Burgers, fries, nuggets . . . then a large milkshake was thrust into her hand.

Joy looked on in disapproval. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when you said you’d get her something to eat,” she said.

“You said she was malnourished and anemic,” he said. “She needs something that’ll stick to her ribs!”

“What she needs is balanced nutrition.”

Spark pulled yet another plastic container from one of the paper bags, and shook it a little for emphasis. “There are salads.”

Joy rolled her eyes, and spoke to Blanche instead. “I’d still recommend seeing a people-doctor as soon as possible,” she told her. “My instruments are pretty good, but they really are meant for scanning Pokémon. You’ll want to be screened properly to be on the safe side. Especially if you end up with indigestion thanks to this one over here.”

Spark thrust a final, small plastic package up in Joy’s direction. “APPLE SLICES,” he said, defiantly.

“I leave it up to you,” Joy told Blanche. “If you need anything, I’ll be tending to Spark’s new baby.” She offered Spark a warm smile only after that. “Congratulations! That’s thirty-six now, I think?”

“Thirty-seven should be here pretty soon. I think it’s gonna be an Igglybuff. I just have this feeling. Thanks for helping me with Pichu.” His smile was gentle and earnest.

“Of course! It’s what I’m here for.” Joy waved to both of them before making her way back over to the main examination room to care for her Pokémon patients.

“Spark, please tell me what time it is,” said Blanche as Spark opened up the package of apple slices and offered it to her.

“It’s just a bit before noon.”

Not as bad as she thought it might be, but still not ideal. She frowned. “I’ve missed my morning seminar.”

“Don’t worry about it. Willow knows what happened, and he said he’ll go over the material with you later. We got a note-taker for you, too, and Candela’s made arrangements with some of your more competent team members to handle your assessment duties for a few hours. Relax. Eat!”

Blanche’s eyes scanned over the feast he’d laid across her lap. “This is a lot of food,” she told him. “I’m not sure I can eat that much.”

“Um, clearly some of it’s for me,” said Spark, picking up one of the wrapped sandwiches.

Blanche followed his lead, taking one of the proffered apple slices and sipping at the milkshake as Spark took a large and rapturous bite of his burger.

“So,” he said as he chewed, after a silence grew too long for his liking. “Do you mind if I ask why we’re here?”

Blanche swallowed her latest sip of shake and regarded him rather flatly. “Well, I know why I’m here,” she said. “I’ve been quietly asking myself about you, though.”

Spark shrugged. “Joy’s taking care of the latest hatchling, I’m excused from class thanks to having shown concern for your health, and my other work isn’t going anywhere for a while. Also, it’s lunch time. Which apparently you’ve been skipping, alongside every other meal from the sounds of it. And sleep.” He leaned closer to her, squinting, and said, “I know you like to play it all cool and unemotional, Blanche, but . . . you do know you’re not a robot, right?”

“You don’t know that,” Blanche deadpanned.

“ . . . Well . . . fine, but even machines need to fuel and recharge. My point is you apparently haven’t been doing that. And that’s bad.”

“I just get busy and forego sleep in favour of getting work done. And sometimes I forget to eat, that’s all.”

“How do you ‘forget’ to eat?!”

“I know it may sound strange to a hedonist like you, but some of us get absorbed in our work.”

“So bring a lunch and eat it at your desk, don’t just stop eating!”

“Spark, I’m still eating and sleeping.”

“Yeah? Three square a day, eight hours a night?”

Blanche rolled her eyes. “As long as the caloric intake is sufficient, you only _need_ to eat one meal a day.”

“Okay, have you been tracking your calories properly?”

“ . . . I’ve been busy.”

Spark made some meaningless gestures in impotent frustration before pulling over one of the empty paper bags, rolling it up, and batting her nose with it. “No!” he said. Then he batted her again. “Bad Blanche!”

Vaporeon looked up from sniffing at Spark’s half-eaten burger, growling a little at him in warning.

“Ohh, relax,” he said. He pulled a nugget out of one of the boxes and held it out to him as a peace offering. Vaporeon seemed satisfied with the arrangement, and accepted the snack.

Blanche, meanwhile, thought she might sneeze if he hit her nose again. “Spark, it’s graduate school. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re _not_ suffering from any kind of self-neglect. Even Candela’s been irritable, forgetful and has bags under her eyes lately.”

Spark shook his head. “I listen to my body. When it needs to eat, I eat. When it needs sleep, I sleep. Team Instinct, remember? I always listen to my instincts. That’s how I stay as healthy as a Pokémon!” He gestured at Vaporeon, who looked up with curiosity from the box of deep-fried nuggets he was raiding and burped.

“Hm,” said Blanche, deciding to let Vaporeon enjoy himself. “I’ll be interested to see how your instincts affect your grades by the end of the semester.”

“Blanche, I _am_ a grad student,” he said. “You think I’d be here if I wasn’t taking my work seriously, too?”

Blanche shrugged. “In some programs it’s easy enough to coast through undergrad on charm, which you have in spades.”

She felt a twinge of embarrassment when a playful smirk spread across his face. He ducked his head in slight bashfulness and pressed a hand over his heart. “Why, thank you, Blanche.”

“It’s easy enough to see in your trainers,” Blanche recovered. “Team Instinct is practically a cult of personality.”

“Team Instinct is just a bunch of like-minded people who know how to party. You’re not eating.” Spark picked up one of the burgers – more accurately, a breakfast sandwich, according to the wrapper – and held it up to her, waggling it like a scolding finger. “Am I gonna have to force-feed you? I’ve mastered giving pills to fussy Pokémon, so I can and will!”

Blanche rolled her eyes, took the sandwich, and under his unwavering gaze, made a show of taking a bite, chewing and swallowing.

Spark nodded. “Good. Now finish it.”

“Spark, you can relax. I’m eating.”

“I won’t relax until I’m pretty confident you’re stuffed to the point of bursting.” His tone was harder than she was used to hearing from him, and his gaze was piercing. “I’m worried about you, Blanche.”

Blanche furrowed her brow. “I realize I overestimated my own abilities and took my health for granted, but I think you’re overreacting.”

The sternness melted from his face as quickly as it had appeared, and he sighed. “I hope so,” he said. “I mean . . . generally my gut’s telling me you’re okay, but . . . sometimes you’re so closed off it’s hard to read you, and I want to be sure.”

“Spark, you don’t think . . . Spark, no. Don’t worry about that.” She touched his arm before she could think to stop herself, and decided to just go with it and leave her hand there. “I realize denial is suspicious too, but . . . no.” She smiled a little, held up her sandwich, and took a big bite for his benefit. Once she’d finished her mouthful, she said, “I promise I’ll take better care of myself. Believe me, I don’t want another incident like this one interfering with my work.”

Spark placed his hand over hers. “I believe you,” he said. “Or at least, I believe you believe that. But . . . there’s something that would really set my mind at ease, if you’d be okay with it.”

“What is it?”

His smile turned shy. “Could we maybe eat lunch together from now on? So I know you’re at least getting one good meal a day?”

Blanche hesitated a little. It sounded slightly inconvenient.

Not unpleasant, though.

“I suppose . . . ” she acquiesced. “As long as we can coordinate a time that works with both of our schedules.”

Spark picked up and clutched her hand in both of his, squeezing it with unrestrained delight and excitement. “Candela mentioned to me that you guys went to lunch a while back around one p.m. I’m normally meeting with my trainers around that time, but I can push it back a bit!”

“Err . . . are you sure that’ll be okay with your team?”

“It’ll be fine! Don’t worry about a thing! I’ll even bring all the food!” He leaned a little closer to her, his face bright and earnest. “I know the take-out might tell you otherwise, but I’m actually a really good cook.” Then, suddenly, his face dropped. “Oh. Do you have any allergies I should know about?”

“I’m not aware of any.”

“Fantastic! What about spicy food? Are you okay with spicy food?”

“ . . . For the most part. As long as it’s not every day, and isn’t _too_ spicy.”

“Gotcha. Sugar okay?”

She shrugged as a guilty twinge pulled at the corner of her lips. “I . . . have a slight sweet tooth.”

He seemed to find this information endearing. “I’ll make desserts, too, then!”

“Spark, you don’t have to go to this much trouble.” She was having a hard time maintaining eye contact, especially as she felt her cheeks warming.

“No, this is great! I love cooking for people!”

“Love it or not, I’m not sure you’re going to have time on top of everything else.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I normally devote my Sundays to preparing my meals for the rest of the week, so I’ll just make extra, is all.”

“ . . . If that’s true, then you’re surprisingly a lot more organized than I give you credit for,” said Blanche. “And what’s going to happen to your original lunch now that you’re filling up on this?”

Spark pointed at Vaporeon. “I gave it to him while you were asleep. He looked hungry.”

Knowing he’d been snacking on their take-out as well, Blanche cast a shaming look down at Vaporeon, who was nestled beside her on his back, clearly stuffed. “You glutton,” she chided. Vaporeon groaned a little, but didn’t look particularly sorry.

“Okay, so we’ve got your meals down,” said Spark. “But I’m still concerned about your sleeping habits. So, like, I dunno . . . ” Spark scratched his head. “Could you maybe, like . . . snap a picture of yourself in bed every night and send it my way to let me know you’re going to sleep?”

“ . . . That’s creepy, Spark.”

Spark looked a little embarrassed at first, but then apparently decided to embrace it and leered at her instead. “Why? Do you sleep naked or something?”

“Spark.”

“I mean, I do, but I always took you for the comfy jammies type.”

“Spark!”

“Or, apparently, the ‘pass out in the middle of the room still in your clothes’ type.”

Blanche scoffed, and Spark chuckled and offered her some fries, which she grudgingly accepted.

“Maybe I’ll just text you a nightly reminder to get to bed,” he said, “and trust you to take care of yourself. Sound good?”

“If you insist,” sighed Blanche.

“I do,” he said. “I mean, I’m not trying to be a creep, and you can tell me to back off any time, but . . . I care about you, you know? I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Blanche wasn’t sure how she was meant to react to that. After a few seconds that felt entirely too long, she mumbled, “Thanks, Spark.”

“I’m not expecting thanks, I’m just explaining myself.”

“I know.” She gave his hand a slight squeeze. “But still. Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, with Blanche quietly finishing her sandwich, fries, apple slices and shake with her left hand, and Spark continuing to hold her right, stroking his thumb across her knuckles and occasionally regarding her with a look of such open affection that Blanche had a hard time looking in his direction after the first couple of times without blushing, so she kept her eyes on her food.

She thought back on their first battle, and on what he’d done to nearly cost her a gym.

Articuno had just appeared, dazzling the crowd with its beautiful plumage and sparkling snowfall. As the mist around them thinned, she could see that even Spark’s eyes were locked on the legendary bird, his mouth agape and his eyes shining. There was no envy or fear or anger in his expression; only pure and honest wonder. His gaze shifted from Articuno to Blanche, but the awe remained.

Blanche allowed herself a moment of smug self-satisfaction. If he was that openly impressed, there was no way he had anything up his sleeve that could top her Legenary Pokémon.

She’d judged accurately. With little fanfare, Spark released his third and final Pokémon into battle: a Snorlax who rubbed his eyes and slowly pulled himself to his feet.

“Articuno! Hit him with an Ice Beam!”

Articuno responded to the command, but did so exactly as it had been trained for this battle: by first flying in a spiral up and around her, trailing its tail in a vortex around her body and upstretched arm. Only once the tip of its tail gave a parting brush to her knuckles did its Ice Beam impact the Snorlax square in the middle of his belly, knocking him back onto his bottom with an impact that shook the arena floor.

Spark’s eyes weren’t on the battle, or on his Snorlax or on Articuno. Rather, they were on Blanche. For a moment, the arena was thick with tension as the audience waited for some retaliation command from Spark, and he was completely missing his cue. Then he seemed to snap out of it, and glance down at Snorlax.

“Skinnypuppy! Uhh . . . . ” He jogged back to his backpack, laid up against the table where his other two Pokéballs rested. He shouted over his shoulder, “Do, um . . . that thing I taught you! Follow your instincts! You got this, buddy!” as he rummaged through his bag frantically. Blanche hoped he wasn’t planning to cheat in some way. Not for her own sake, but for his: it’d be a pathetic and humiliating way to lose.

Before Snorlax could retaliate, he had to get back to his feet, which would take time. Blanche took the opportunity to command Articuno to hit him with Frost Breath again as many times as possible. Snorlax, being as strong and heavily cushioned as he was, likely could barely feel Articuno’s attacks, but was repeatedly knocked back down to start from square one, and as he was slowly beginning to accumulate frost and ice over his body, his movements were slowing. Blanche quietly chuckled to herself. This would be over quickly.

Spark, meanwhile, was scribbling something in a large notebook with a Sharpie. When he finally looked up to see how his Snorlax was doing, he said, “C’mon, pal, you know what to do!” Then he returned to his scribbling. Blanche supposed there was little else he _could_ do: Snorlax was a slow mover, and a dubious choice for most battles, let alone one against a Legendary. Blanche assumed he’d been planning to send him in as one of his joke moves, and had gotten in over his head. She was patiently waiting out the final attack that would freeze Snorlax solid and end the match, when he heard Spark call her name. She blinked and looked across the arena to him, where she saw him holding up his notebook for her to see.

On the page facing her, in a scratchy scrawl, was written the following:

WILL YOU

GO OUT

WITH ME?

When the words sunk in, her heart felt like it’d been jolted, and her face burned. She could barely make out the match announcer cooing, “Ooh, looks like we may have a love connection in the arena today!”, but she definitely heard the “aww!”s and laughter of the audience.

She wanted to crawl into a Pokéball.

Spark, meanwhile, kept holding up the sign, as if awaiting her answer. His eyes shone and his smile could have melted the ice caps. From what she could tell, he was quite ridiculously sincere. The arena had gone quiet, and she felt obliged to respond, one way or the other.

Just as she was taking in a breath to reply, a devastating quake shook the arena, and Blanche, after a startled yelp, looked to the centre of the gym, where she saw Articuno struggling under the massive girth of Snorlax, who’d just landed on top of it, creating a small crater in the floor.

In the scant seconds she’d taken her eyes off the match, Snorlax had somehow not only managed to get to his feet, but rocket into the air and smash into Articuno with a super-effective Body Slam.

“Do, um . . . that thing I taught you!” was what Spark had said to Snorlax. That must have been it: Spark had taught him how to spring to his feet quickly when he needed to. And then he’d distracted Blanche to keep her from being her Articuno’s extra set of eyes.

Articuno managed to struggle free, and Blanche seized the moment. “Articuno! Icy Wind!”

Articuno blasted Snorlax with everything it had left, pinning it to the ground first with the force of the wind, then with the blanket of ice it left in its wake. Not one to want to struggle too hard against overwhelming odds, Snorlax gave up and went to sleep.

“And it looks like a frosty reception for our lover-boy ends the match for today,” the match announcer piped up as Blanche called Articuno back to its Pokéball and turned her back on Spark, whom she could hear calling, “Skinnypuppy, Return,” with dejection in his voice.

Good, she’d thought. He deserved disappointment after a cruel stunt like that. She stroked Articuno’s Pokéball and murmured praise to it as she walked back through the doors to her prep room.

No longer the scrappy fourteen-year-old who’d faced her in the gym, Spark nonetheless continued to surprise and throw her off balance just as he had then. She wasn’t even sure how to interpret that day anymore. Had it all been a devious prank to steal a victory, or had he been sincere at an incredibly inopportune moment? Almost everything she knew about him now seemed to point to the latter, but she also knew he wasn’t above playing the trickster.

It didn’t seem to matter much anymore, though. What was then was then. He had no reason to deceive her now.

The rest of her day was filled with catch-up work and more than a little frustration, but she managed to get back to her dormitory at the comparatively early time of 1 a.m. Pushed up against her door was a sealed cardboard box with a large, red bow on top, and an envelope with her name on it taped to the side. Blanche, always cautious, took a moment to inspect the box, and had Vaporeon give it a sniff before either one of them moved it around too much. When Vaporeon began gnawing on the box’s corner, she figured it was safe . . . and probably had food inside.

She brought it inside and placed it on the counter in the kitchenette, and cut open the tape sealing the box as Vaporeon filled up the sink for his nightly soak. Inside she found a folded pair of soft fleece pyjamas that were scented with lavender, a sealed container of sliced fruits and berries, another sealed container of shortbread cookies, a box of chamomile tea, and a black sleeping mask. The envelope contained a short note. She knew it had to be from Candela before she ever saw the signature: the handwriting was too pretty to be Spark’s.

_Blanche,_

_What’s this I hear about malnutrition and exhaustion? I won’t have my victory weakened by a rival who isn’t in top form! I expect to see you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow morning in seminar, with at least a little bit of berry juice staining your lips so I know you’ve got something in you. Spark tells me he’s making you lunches now, too. No wiggling your way out of it!_

_Don’t be such a perfectionist, Blanche. There’ll be time for us to do all the work while crying at the end of the semester, and we’ll do it TOGETHER. Don’t do it the whole way through or you’ll burn out! Just do what you’re capable of: no more than that! That by itself should be more than enough!_

_The work comes second. You come first._

_I could make a dirty joke about that but I won’t because I care about you and I am seriously worried, okay? Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow._

_XOXOXXXXXXXXXX!!!_

_Candela_

Blanche was finding all this attention over a little bit of overwork and exhaustion embarrassing, but she also couldn’t quite stop smiling. It was a little late to be eating, but she did make herself a cup of tea and took one of the smaller cookies for herself, giving another to Vaporeon before she left the kitchen. His tail happily slapped at the water’s surface as he munched on his treat. She gave his brow a goodnight kiss, then brought the pyjamas and face mask with her to bed. Along the way, she heard her phone buzz, and pulled it out of her jacket pocket to read it. A message from Spark:

_It's a little past 1:30. If you go to sleep now you can get about 6 or 7 hours, which isn’t bad! I hope you’re in bed. And that this text doesn’t wake you. Crap. Should I send this? I’m gonna send it._

She was about to text back her reply, but then had a different idea. She carried on to her bedroom and changed into her new pyjamas, then settled in under her blankets and snapped a pointedly neutral-faced selfie with her mug of tea, which she sent to Spark.

His reply, almost instant, was a series of heart emojis, which she found herself unable to stop staring and smiling at.

She finished her tea and put her empty cup on her nightstand, turning off the lights, but kept her phone in bed with her. Another message came in as she curled up under the blankets: an attachment that appeared to be an audio file. She opened it, and heard Spark’s voice.

“If you need a little help getting to sleep,” he said through the phone’s tinny speaker, “I always found a little music helps. Hope this does.”

After that, he launched into a gentle a cappella lullaby she didn’t quite recognize, but she wasn’t so much concerned with listening to the words as the notes, and his voice singing them. His voice, though a bit heavy with what sounded like grogginess of his own, was a clearly well-practiced tenor, and sounded like honey on leather: sweet, yet ruggedly textured and more than a little seductive. When he reached the end of the song, he murmured, “G’night, beautiful,” and the playback ended.

She kept tapping replay as she laid there, enraptured, and wondering if she should send anything back. Ultimately she decided against it, content to just lie beside her phone, feeling light and floaty.

Sleep fell over her like a gentle veil, and she was beginning to dream even a little before she fully lost consciousness. At first, just images and memories of moments she’d had over the past while talking to Spark and Candela. Then sensations and sounds were added to the mix: thumbs brushing across her knuckles, across her jaw. Candela’s intense gaze. Spark’s sublime voice. Then Spark’s warm breath and lips against her ear and body pressed against hers from behind, even as he carried on singing, his hands sliding around her waist. Then Candela before her, still gazing at her with tremendous and unwavering purpose, closing the distance between them and claiming her mouth with hers. Kissing. Nipping. Gentle hands cupping her face as she fell back against Spark, who nibbled at her earlobe. One of Candela’s hands sliding down her neck and tearing open her shirt before she pressed a line of kisses down the same path. Spark’s hands sliding down her hips and under her waistband. Her heart racing in anticipation and _need._

Her heart racing so much, she woke to the sound of her own mewling voice.

Disappointment and frustration fell upon her like a bucket of cold water, followed by the further dampening of horrid reality.

Two people. Two people wanted her. And she wanted two people.

That wasn’t how things worked. She wanted two, but one would certainly pull away if they knew about the other, and she didn’t think she’d be able to stand the thought of losing either one.

She rolled over on to her back and stared at the ceiling, trying to force herself to relax. Candela just wanted a conquest, and didn’t mind playing a long game to get it. Spark was just kind: it wasn’t as though his asking for a date when they were kids was still valid now, and a little harmless flirting was fairly common for him. Her own feelings were simply desire and fond friendship, not anything much deeper than that. She didn’t have to get worked up about it. She didn’t. Did she?

The last thought to cross her mind before sleep claimed her again was, “I didn’t sign up for this mess.”


	3. Chapter 3

The end of the semester was approaching, and Team Valor had pulled slightly into the lead, but not so far that Team Mystic couldn’t recover within a day or two. What was troubling, however, was that Team Rocket had pulled into a very close third over the past week, bypassing Team Instinct despite previously having been far behind them. Spark was quiet about it when she saw him, but other than at their lunches, they had very little time for personal conversation. And during lunch, they were both usually so exhausted and bogged down with their research that they would usually just sit, eat, and work. Spark would occasionally brush his leg or foot against hers, and offer her an encouraging smile, but was otherwise unusually silent. Grad student life was finally starting to take its toll, if his bloodshot eyes and shaky hands were any indication.

Candela would occasionally join them for their work-lunches, but was just as often training with her Pokémon, and any interested Valor trainers, around that time. She preferred to eat earlier, when she could: she tended to start her days earlier than Blanche and Spark did, and grew hungry earlier as a result. Blanche tended to see her more often in the student lounge after their morning classes.

“What’s Spark even doing?! His team’s in fourth now and still all he’s doing is fucking hatch marathons and _dabbing_ contests with his trainers! It’s up to you and me. We can’t fall apart now, okay? Stay strong! Focus on our bet!” She would say this around wide, twitching eyes and frequent sips of far-too-large cups of espresso.

Grad life. It’s awful.

Blanche had actually managed to get into slightly better sleeping and eating habits since the incident back in October, so while Candela and Spark looked to be coming apart at the seams, Blanche was more just in a constant (but consistent), zombie-like state: she still wasn’t getting _good_ amounts of sleep, but was getting enough to keep herself awake during the day, and was feeding herself enough to prevent any further ‘episodes’.

But her reaction time was still a little on the unreliable side, so Spark had to nudge her when Professor Willow approached them at lunch.

“Hm? Yes? Professor?” Blanche blinked slowly, her mind still on numbers and biological curiosities and oh, Professor Willow really was a devastatingly attractive man, wasn’t he?

Willow bent down to speak to both of them. “I need you both to join me in my office,” he murmured quietly. “Follow me.” His posture was tense, and he was speaking around a half-clenched jaw. He waited for them to pull themselves to their feet and follow him across the building to his office.

Along the way, as they trailed behind him, Spark leaned down and breathed as quietly as he could into her ear, “Okay, I know it’s unlikely, but am I bad for hoping he just really wants to get us alone so he can seduce us?”

Blanche rolled her eyes and shoved him, just on principle.

“Come on,” he whispered.

She shoved him again for good measure. Because now she was getting ideas she didn’t need, and it was his fault.

As they made their way into his office, they saw that Candela was already there, looking troubled. Willow stood behind his desk and waited for the three of them to be seated. And even after they’d settled in, he hesitated a moment, seemingly bereft of any idea exactly how to start.

“Have you seen today’s gym ratings?”

Only Candela nodded, glumly. Spark and Blanche hadn’t yet bothered, and both answered in the negative.

“First of all, you two really ought to be keeping a closer eye on things. But second, here they are.” He turned his computer screen around for them to see.

Mystic was very, very narrowly in the lead, but Valor was not in second. Rocket was.

Valor was dead last.

“How . . . ?” breathed Blanche. That couldn’t be right. Valor’s numbers were lower than she’d ever seen them. That couldn’t have happened in the half-day since she’d last checked.

“Many of Valor’s trainers have been accused of cheating,” Professor Willow reported, “Hacking, more specifically, and illegal programs to boost their odds. Usually in fights against Team Rocket, who called for an investigation into the matter when they claim to have detected suspicious activity. Many of Valor’s previous victories have thus been awarded to Team Rocket.”

Candela was shaking her head. “It’s not true. Not my trainers. We’re Team Valor for a reason. We’re noble and we’re strong and we _don’t cheat_.” Her eyes were misting up, and when Blanche, concerned, reached over and took Candela’s hand, her tears spilled over.

“They found a few cheaters on your team, too, Blanche,” said Willow. “Not as many, so far, but they’re still investigating. A few of your victories have been forefeited to Team Rocket as well. If they find many more, you may lose your lead.”

“What about Instinct?” asked Spark.

“Not so far . . . but . . . Spark, no offense, but Instinct doesn’t even seem to be _trying_. You _are_ advising them, right?”

“Of course I am!” Spark sounded genuinely offended. “Just because we’re not as hardcore competitive as the other two teams doesn’t mean we don’t try! We have team pride!”

“Are you sure?” asked Willow. “Have you seen many of your team’s competitions lately? Over the last week, six trainers forefeited as soon as they saw the other team’s Pokémon.”

Spark was genuinely surprised. “That’s . . . that’s not even how we operate. We always try. All my trainers, they try. They _love_ what they do.”

“Look, I’m not trying to shame you or your team for doing poorly Spark, and it’s not going to affect your grades or your job. At least, your job in the short term is safe.” He sighed. “In the long term, if we keep getting reports of cheating, I don’t know if we’ll be able to continue the program at all. We’ve already had one sponsor pull out and put their chips behind Rocket instead, and another two are threatening the same.”

“We’ll talk to our teams,” said Blanche. “We’ll call emergency meetings right away. We’ll get to the bottom of it.” Her tense muscles were screaming at her: she was already overburdened by her schoolwork and did _not_ need this right now.

“It gets worse, Blanche,” said Willow, gazing square at her. “It’s not just problems on the sporting side. I’m afraid your research has been affected, too. The database has been hacked. We’re not sure by whom, but swathes of files were corrupted and, we suspect, stolen.”

Blanche’s head began pounding. “The backups?”

“The most recent one has also been affected. We have an older one, but it’s missing about a week’s worth of information.”

“ . . . I have some backups of my own,” said Blanche, even as her heart was sinking. “Some. It . . . it might still serve . . . . ” she couldn’t finish. She wanted to throw up. The database was massive and she’d only saved bits and pieces along the way. She hoped it’d be enough, but depending on how much was missing, she’d still be losing a complete picture.

“She can’t be penalized for that,” Candela said to the Professor.

  
Willow shook his head. “She won’t be. I’ll mark her based on what we have available to us . . . but it’s still a blow to what she wanted to accomplish.” He wiped a hand down his face. “To what we _all_ wanted to accomplish,” he growled.

There was a long silence in the room.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t . . . I don’t really think any of you are to blame for any of this. I just . . . felt you should know what was going on. Please don’t bring it up yet to anyone else.”

Willow left, and the three of them were alone in his office.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Candela looked at Spark.

“Tell me it wasn’t you,” she said.

“ . . . What?”

She pounded the armrest and stood up. “Spark, tell me it wasn’t you!”

“Why the fuck would it be me?!”

“You with your fucking crusade against the spay-neuter program! If Willow gets shut down, that program gets shut down, too!”

“Are you for real!?” Spark stood, too. “Yeah, I’m opposed to the fucking spay-neuter program because I think it robs them of their autonomy and procreative choice, and I think it reeks of eugenics when he and Blanche pass on the ‘good’ breeders to me, but it’s not like I’d burn down everything else over it!” He took a step closer to her. “Fuck, I could just as easily accuse _you_ , Miss Team Rocket Superstar!”

The room grew deathly silent. Spark had fully said it: the one thing that had always been an unspoken taboo to even mention between them. Everyone knew it but nobody said anything, because everyone knew Candela was trying to put it behind her. Spark sometimes danced around it to get a rise out of her, but he’d never outright accused her of still sympathising with them until just then.

When Blanche had first met Candela in the arena, Candela had been under Team Rocket’s banner: their poster child. She’d defected shortly before her third year of undergrad, and made many public statements about her distaste for the way they treat Pokémon. She’d made herself their enemy, and yet she’d stayed afloat in the tournaments. It was plausible that she’d merely been a double agent, but . . . .

“You crossed a line,” said Candela, quietly.

“I know,” said Spark. “I’m sorry.”

“I honestly don’t care if you’re sorry. I suspect you now more than ever.”

“Candela—”

“It’s neither of you,” said Blanche. “Obviously.”

They both turned to her.

“What makes you say that?” Candela demanded.

Blanche huffed, annoyed that she’d have to waste time explaining when they could be investigating. “You left Team Rocket a year before even hearing about the GO project, or really even knowing Professor Willow that well. _Nobody_ knew what he was planning at that point. Even if you’d somehow been seduced back into Rocket’s ranks between then and now, you wouldn’t have taken the competitions so seriously, and you wouldn’t be an emotional wreck right now. You would be gloating, because at this point it would arguably be too late to stop you. It’s how you operate. It’s one of your weaknesses, really. When victory is assured, you relax and begin celebrating prematurely: you don’t keep up your guard.” Then she looked at Spark. “And Spark, I respect you highly, but you’re not a strategist. You could never have pulled off something as multilayered and multi-stepped as this. You’re an in-the-moment tactician who, for all his extroversion, relies primarily on himself and his instincts, not on the orchestrations of others. And whatever moral disagreements you may have with Willow, you’re right: you wouldn’t betray all of us over a relative quibble.”

She took both of their hands. “Granted, I’m relying somewhat on the trust I’ve developed for both of you as well in my assessment, and this may be in error. I’m choosing to trust the both of you, because I care about you both and I don’t want to have been betrayed by either of you. But . . . I’m trusting my instincts.” She smiled at Spark. “And I’m trusting in the nobility of others.” She turned her smile on Candela. “I’ve arguably lost the most in this so far, and this is my assessment.”

Candela and Spark exchanged apologetic glances. Spark took Candela’s hand, and Candela didn’t pull it away.

“So who do you think it was?” asked Spark.

Blanche was already heading for the door. “The Computer Science team, obviously.”


	4. Chapter 4

The room was dark, and Blanche’s face was bathed in blue as she searched tirelessly through the data logs, pulling up any information she could find on the potential identity of the traitor. It was difficult – Blanche was no computer scientist, she was simply familiar with the database and knew a few tricks. It was already the pre-dawn hours, and her eyes ached.

The door opened behind her.

“There she is,” whispered a voice. Blanche looked behind her. It was Alex, the leader of the Computer Science team, and Shelley, one of their star programmers.

“And there you are,” said Blanche.

“So you’re the hacker, huh?” asked Alex. “Professor Willow will be interested to hear that.” For good measure, Shelley snapped a photo of Blanche in front of the terminal. She didn’t mind.

“Drop the pretense,” said Blanche. “Willow knows my technological skills and they’re nowhere near your level.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t know how to employ a script to do the job for you.”

“Fair. And it does indeed look like a script was used. One remarkably similar to the one Team Rocket used to raid the national bank database in ’04, from my research.”

“And?”

“And that script was written by your mother,” said Blanche to Shelley. “Who, while not formally a member of Team Rocket, is frequently hired to do work for them. I’ve been gathering evidence. Alex, you yourself have ties to Team Rocket: your sister is an active agent. Or at least was, until she disappeared. But you know, I found someone among the ranks of Team Valor who looks _remarkably_ similar to her. A spitting image, really. Does the name Jennifer Pendleton ring a bell?”

“No,” said Alex, coolly.

“That’s funny,” said Blanche. “That’s the name she was going by until we let Candela loose on her. After a couple of hours alone with her, though, she just started screaming, ‘I’m Justine Parkwell! I’m Justine Parkwell!’ I was surprised she was so easy to crack, really, but there you go. Alex Parkwell, your sister has been found, if she was ever really lost to begin with. She’s mostly in one piece, I think.” This was a bluff. Candela had never been anywhere near Justine or Jennifer or whatever her name actually was. Blanche had just found some old newspaper clippings and put two and two together. Justine was probably asleep in her bed at this hour.

Alex strode into the room and pinned her to the desk behind her within a few short steps. “Where is she?”

“Where’s my data?” asked Blanche. “I think we can arrange a trade.”

“Or I can turn you in to the authorities,” said Alex.

“Good luck with that.” It wasn’t Blanche who’d said this, but Candela, from the doorway. Shelley whirled around, her red hair made all the brighter by the glow of Moltres’ wings unfurling behind Candela. Candela was cast in the shadow of her bird’s flames, her silhouette in the doorway looking like an avenging angel. “If you want to take Blanche anywhere, you’ll have to get around me and my lovely friend here first.” Moltres’ head brushed lovingly against Candela’s cheek, and Candela stroked its neck.

Shelley pulled up her phone, but Candela barked, “Moltres, Fire Blast,” and the concentrated flames were pinpointed directly at her wrist. She dropped the phone, yelping.

“Relax, sweetie,” said Candela, leaning on the door frame. “That attack was only meant to startle, not permanently damage you.” Her perfect teeth gleamed in the firelight. “We’ve got all night for that.”

Shelley held her wrist, and her breath shook. “Look,” she said, “I have no loyalty to Team Rocket. I was hired for a job and I did it, that’s all. Same with my mother! If this costs us future jobs, then so be it, but I’ll talk. It was us, okay? They planted people in our lab and in all the teams as soon as they heard about what Willow was planning to do. They had me code the extractor script right into the GO app. Alex and Justine were the group coordinators.”

“And you’ll never get us to repeat that once we leave this room,” growled Alex, turning to Shelley and backhanding her.

“Oh, that’s fine,” said Blanche. “I had Skype running in the background on this computer. I’ve recorded every word to my computer at home.”

“Just fess up,” said Candela. “And give us the data. I’m not the type who asks nicely more than . . . like, twice.”

“We don’t have it,” said Alex, as Shelley picked up her phone and scrambled to her feet, still eyeing the door and tapping at her screen.

“You’ll be a campfire marshmallow before the police get here,” said Candela. “Just settle down.”

“Who says I’m calling the police?” asked Shelley. She grinned and said into the phone, “Confirmed breach in the lab. Two of the Team Leaders. They’ve got a Moltres, and possibly one more. Come prepared.”

Alex grinned. “You can stand down now and go quietly, or you can take the hard road. Our guys’ll be here in three minutes.”

“I can roast you alive in less than one, but okay, I guess you want to play it that way. Moltres, Flamethrower!”

Alex and Shelley both dove out of the way, with Shelley rolling under a nearby table and curling around her phone protectively. Moltres . . . did nothing. When Shelley realized this, her eyes blinked open.

“Nah, nah,” said Candela. “Moltres knows better than to full-blast a human unless I’m actively in danger. Also, I know everyone talks shit about millennials and their phones these days, but none of us care _that_ much about them.” She looked up at Blanche. “You were right. It’s in the biggest nerd’s phone.”

“Access to it at least. We’d still need the password if it’s locked, or in a remote terminal.”

“True,” said Candela. “Looks like you’ll be sticking with us, Ginge.”

“Make me,” said Shelley.

“Psst.”

Shelley blinked and looked behind her. Then she screamed upon seeing Spark’s face right next to hers.

“Hi!” he said. “Also, yoink!” He grabbed the phone out of Shelley’s hands before she could think to react, and somersaulted backward out of her immediate reach. After springing back to his feet, he cringed a little as he handled the phone. “Yecch. I mean, I was banking on the sweaty palms to get your grip nice and lubed up for me, what with the fiery bird right in your face and the mortal terror and everything, but . . . still. Gross.”

Alex pulled out a phone this time, presumably to update the incoming team, but a quick Fire Blast from Moltres knocked it to the floor as well, and Spark dashed to grab it. His hand and Alex’s reached it at the same time, but just as Alex’s fingers closed back around it, Blanche had already called out, “Articuno! Ice Beam! Concentrated!” The beam hit Alex’s wrist and seeped around it on the floor, and Alex was unable to lift the hand from the ground. Spark kicked the phone and it skidded out of Alex’s grip, where he was able to pick it up.

Candela spoke up from the doorway. “They’re here,” she said. “Spark, get out, you’ve got what we need! . . . I hope.”

Spark nodded and dashed out the door, skidding when he saw a group of about ten uniformed Team Rocket agents running straight for him. “Oh-hooh, fuck,” he exclaimed, quickly changing course and running down a different hallway. Three of the agents, as well as their Pokémon, changed course to follow him. This helped Blanche and Candela somewhat. As Articuno fluttered out from behind the computer terminal behind Blanche, Alex was still struggling to stand freely thanks to the icy shackle Articuno had created, but Shelley was on her feet.

“You may have Legendaries,” said Shelley, “But Team Rocket has powerful Pokémon, too. And years of experience training them to be at the top of their game. You won’t win.”

Candela grinned as the group of agents came to a stop in front of the door she was still guarding, and readied their Pokémon. Calmly, she smirked at Shelley, and said, “I’ll make you a wager.”

“Candela . . . . ” Candela was getting too cocky. Blanche gestured to Articuno to follow her, and joined Candela at the door. “It’s two-point-five to one, and they’re organized. They may even have more on the way. Spark’s got—”

“Oh, no. It’s seven-to-one,” said Candela. “Maybe five to one if a couple of them follow you, which is what I’m hoping. You’re going after Spark.”

“ . . . No, I’m not,” said Blanche.

Moltres and Articuno readied themselves in front of Blanche and Candela, and they blocked the first volley of attacks.

“Go,” said Candela. “I’ll keep Ginger here away from these guys. You make sure Spark’s okay. If nothing else, get home and make sure the confession recorded safely. At the end of all this, we need _something_ to hold against them.”

“You can’t do this alone,”

“I’m not alone. I’ve got my baby here.” She smiled at Moltres, who was, admittedly, doing quite well – although, that was in tandem with Articuno. It remained to be seen whether it could do as well on its own. “And I’ve got two more friends in my pockets. And I know these idiots. They collect powerful Pokémon but they rely too much on their power and not enough on training and bonding with them. That’s why I hated working with them. It’s also why I can beat them without breaking a sweat.”

Articuno squawked: it’d taken a sharp blow to one of its wings. It could still fly, but it would be a weakness that would drain it soon enough.

Candela grabbed Blanche’s face and kissed her, briefly but sensationally, then shoved her down the same hallway Spark had just disappeared down. “GO!” she barked. “Articuno! Go to your trainer!”

As Blanche stumbled, she saw two of the Rocket agents already prepping to follow her. Articuno glanced her way, silently asking whether it was okay to follow Candela’s order. She made her decision.

“Articuno! With me!” She turned and ran, blindly if she was honest, because Spark was long gone: she couldn’t even hear him or the agents following him. As she felt the cool breeze of Articuno’s wings above her, she heard Candela’s voice.

“Flareon! Jolteon! I choose you! . . . No, Jolteon, I am NOT going to call you Donglord, so just deal with it. Have some dignity, kiddo.”

A Jolteon named Donglord. Spark had given Candela one of his dearest Pokémon in case something like this happened.

He was no great strategist, but his instincts were good.

Blanche relied on her own instincts and talents. She centred herself as she ran, zig-zagging through the halls to throw her pursuers off track, and thought as calm and rationally as she could.

If I were Spark, she thought to herself, where would I go?

Straight ahead, she saw an exit leading out of the building . . . and beside it, another door leading to a stairwell.

The logical thing for Spark to do would be to find the nearest exit and run for freedom. But Spark didn’t always do what was logical, and what was logical was not always the best choice, regardless. His instincts would likely have cautioned him that Rocket would account for this and station people at or near the exits.

He would take the stairs.

Blanche dashed through the door, barking, “Articuno, Ice Beam the door!” Articuno did so, leaving it at least temporarily sealed with ice. Blanche wanted distance between herself and her pursuers, but hoped that they would remain focused on capturing her and Articuno, and wouldn’t run back to rejoin their group against Candela. Nonetheless, she ran as fast as she could up the stairs, up every flight. Spark would go to the top. The roof. Other floors wouldn’t serve him. Spark wouldn’t hide or wait things out: he was too impatient and impulsive for that, and would worry too much about his friends. He’d get out into the open air.

She hoped she was reading him right.

When she got to the top, she could hear the footstomps of her pursuers echoing up the stairs. They’d gotten the door open, or maybe come in from elsewhere. Good. At least Candela had less problems to handle. She slammed into the fire exit door to the roof, and stumbled outside. The sun was beginning to rise, and the sky was beginning to glow with its radiance. She could see Spark up ahead, cornered on the edge of the rooftop by the three Rocket agents who’d followed him, as well as their Pokémon. Spark was alone, with no companion to help him. He was grasping his arm, and though she couldn’t see it on his arm directly, the hand holding it was darkly stained with blood. He’d been bitten, and also had some sort of head wound.

One of the Rocket agents looked over his shoulder upon hearing the door slam open, and he gestured to his teammates. Stealth was not an option, although Spark seemed to wish it was.

“Oh, no. Blanche, get outta here!”

“Articuno! Blizzard!” she ordered, pointing at the Rocket agents.

“NO! Stop ‘im, Blanche!!”

Blanche’s brow creased, but she held up her hand to stay her order, and Articuno obeyed. She could hear the Rocket agents behind her approaching the final flight of stairs, and the ones in front of her were prepping for attack.

“Fuckers, it’s _me_ you want! I got your data!” he held up the two stolen phones, clearly pained as he lifted his bloodied left arm. “And if you want it back, you’re gonna have to follow me!”

The Rocket agents between them hesitated. Spark took a step backward.

“Spark . . . Spark, no!”

“Blanche . . . I’m sorry about this,” he said, nodding to the two agents bursting through the doorway behind her. She ran toward Spark, both to put distance between herself and her pursuers, and in hopes of possibly stopping him, if she could somehow bypass the agents in front of her.

“I just want you to know, if I don’t make it . . . ” he said, looking down behind him as he approached the edge.

“Spark, don’t do anything stupid. We’ve got—”

“I want you to know, Blanche,” he said. “That I’ve been, like, stupid in love with you since I was twelve.”

“Spark!”

“Peace out, shitlords!” he called to the Rocket agents. He punched up both his middle fingers, and let himself fall backward into nothing. The sheer insanity of it had everyone momentarily frozen.

Blanche screamed his name, long and echoing into the dawn. Numbers came to her. Twelve. They’d met when they were fourteen. Blanche had become renowned as a gym leader around the age of twelve.

He’d been a fan.

“Articuno,” she said, just as Team Rocket were regaining their senses. “Blizzard. With everything you’ve got.”

The resulting storm from Articuno’s wings was enough to freeze Blanche’s tears to her face. The Rocket Pokémon couldn’t get near her for all the wind and stinging snow. She was content to stand in it, shivering, right alongside them. Though nothing hit her, she fell to her knees.

Then, over the edge of the building, a yellow glow. Not the sun, in literal terms, but for Blanche it was just as life-giving.

Spark was clinging to his Zapdos, who rose into the air somewhat sluggishly thanks to the extra weight, but still with impressive grace.

“Blanche!” Spark called out to her over the howl of Articuno’s wind. “Clear out!”

She leaped to her feet again, her smile unrestrained, and called up to Articuno. “Articuno! That’s enough! We’re going with Zapdos!”

Articuno was nothing if not efficient. It swooped down low enough for her to grab hold of him before it stopped its Blizzard attack completely, leaving them enough time to join Zapdos and Spark while visibility was still low. The Rocket Pokémon who had ranged attacks fired at them, but they were already too far off for it to have much effect.

Spark ordered his Zapdos to lead Articuno across campus to the dorms, and once they touched down, he stumbled to the ground and held the phones out to Blanche.

“Here,” he said. “Call Willow. Or the Police, or both. Whichever number you can remember. I didn’t have time or free hands, and now it . . . just really hurts and you could do it faster, please.” He hissed. “We gotta make sure Candela gets backup.”

Blanche pulled the phone from his hands and called Willow’s office extension first, leaving only a very brief message for the moment. He wouldn’t get the message for a couple of hours yet, but she didn’t know his personal number. Once she was finished, she knelt down to Spark and inspected his wounds while calling the police.

“They’re sending a team,” she said during a brief hold. ”Jenny’s involved, so they’re taking it seriously. Regardless of whether this works out, Spark, they’ll be making an arrest today, because I am going to murder you.”

“There are worse ways to die,” said Spark.

“Did you at least know that Zapdos was going to catch you?” she asked, taking off her jacket and wrapping it around his arm. His head wound would just have to be ignored for the moment: despite the profuse bleeding, the cut wasn’t too deep. She’d keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t lose too much blood.

“I do plan some things ahead,” he said. “Like our lunches.”

She wiped some blood from his brow with her thumb, her expression softening. “Fair enough,” she said. She handed the phones back to him, pressing the active one – Alex’s – up against his ear. “Stay on the line with the dispatcher. Get to safety: they shouldn’t be able to get you in your dorm unless things go disastrously wrong within the next half-hour or so. Let the dispatcher know we’ll likely need medical services as well. Tell them where you are: I want you tended to. I’m going back for Candela.”

“Candela won’t like that,” he warned, but made no move to stop her.

“Candela’s just going to have to deal with that,” said Blanche, grabbing hold of Articuno again. “Back to GO Labs, Articuno, but as stealthy as possible.”

As she lifted off again, Spark waved to her, and mouthed, “I love you.” She simply stuck her nose in the air. She was still mad at him, after all.

Though, she suspected her smirk might be giving her away.


	5. Chapter 5

Blanche and Articuno had circled the building carefully at first, hiding behind surrounding buildings where they could, to make sure they didn’t run afoul of any more Rocket agents. Some were stationed at a few exits, but the ones on the roof had presumably gone back inside. That worried Blanche: How many did Candela have to deal with now? Would they also have sent in reinforcements? Did they even need reinforcements at this point?

She found a side of the building that was largely unguarded, entirely because there were no entrances on that side, and flew back up to the roof with Articuno on that side, landing as softly as possible. The two of them snuck back down the stairwell. She couldn’t hear anything, even as they reached the bottom floor.

“Brace yourself, Articuno. Have Blizzard ready,” she whispered, and Articuno chirruped in acknowledgement.

Slowly, she pulled open the door leading back into the hallway.

Still quiet. She feared the worst.

“Follow me,” she whispered, more just for the sake of reassuring herself of the company. They made their way silently, with Articuno walking as lightly as possible rather than flying so that the flap of its wings wouldn’t give them away.

As they approached the final corner leading to the hallway where the computer labs were, they pressed themselves up against the wall. Still no sound. She wondered if anyone was even still there. Cautiously, she peered around the corner.

Discarded Pokéballs littered the ground, and a single Rocket agent was passed out on the floor. At least, her more humane side hoped that he was just passed out.

Her more detached side pointed out that it’d be safer if he was dead.

She gestured for Articuno to continue following her, and they crept up close to the door. It was closed, but she could hear voices inside.

One voice was unmistakeably Candela’s.

“Ready,” she whispered to Articuno, who got into battle stance. “One . . . two . . . three.”

She pulled open the door, ready to take on whatever she found inside, with Articuno spreading its wings behind her.

. . . And found Candela, sitting at the very same computer terminal as Blanche had been using earlier, with her legs crossed. Her eyebrows shot up in mild surprise. She was drinking from a Starbucks cup.

Where had she gotten a Starbucks cup?

Shelley and Alex were bound up in computer cables at the back of the room. Surrounding Candela were not only her Pokémon and Jolteon, but also several of Team Rocket’s Pokémon, many of whom were gazing up at her adoringly.

Defectors?!

Some of them had opposable thumbs, like the Pikachus who were tightening the restraints on three of their former, now unconscious masters. When one of them looked to be reviving, the biggest Pikachu sent a jolt through the cable, and the Rocket agent blacked out again. That certainly explained how she’d managed to tie up that many people.

“Blanche,” greeted Candela. “Where’s Spark?”

“Back at the dorms,” Blanche replied. “He’s, err . . . he’s on the phone with the police. Last I checked . . . . ”

Candela seemed relieved at that. “And we’ve got the data?”

“I think so. We haven’t looked through the phones yet.”

“Either way, we’ve got enough to incriminate. I don’t know how Team Rocket has managed to get as big as they are, to be honest, and I worked for them for years. They’re easily intimidated, frankly stupid, and they inspire no loyalty in their Pokémon.”

“Unlike you, apparently.” Blanche looked around her. Some of Candela’s new friends were eyeing her warily, but seemed to more or less trust her, given that Candela seemed so relaxed in her presence.

Candela smiled. “I got lucky,” she said. “A few of them remembered me, and when I gave them the offer to join me, they convinced the others. Many Pokémon wanted me to be their trainer back in the day. I guess now, these ones are getting that chance.” She reached down and scratched the bigger Pikachu behind her ears.

“You never cease to impress me, Candela,” Blanche said, quietly.

Candela took the compliment with remarkable bashfulness. “I hope so,” she said. “I know I still have a lot to make up for, for ever being associated with them.” She turned and spat on the nearest unconscious agent. “I want you to know that when I joined them . . . I was just a kid. A naïve, ambitious kid who wanted to make a name for herself, and back then, Team Rocket just looked like . . . like the Elite, you know? I had no idea of their criminal connections or terrible practices. By the time I caught wind of what was going on I’d already done a few things for them that I’m not proud of.” Her eyes remained on the unconscious agents. “They recruit the stupid and the proud. I was both.”

Blanche let her sit in her regrets for a few seconds, since she wasn’t quite sure what she could say that would bring her any genuine comfort. Perhaps comfort wasn’t really what would help her, anyway.

So instead, she wrinkled her nose a little, shrugged a bit, and said, “Now you’re just one of those.”

Candela’s head snapped up and briefly she looked utterly insulted. But then a grin spread across her face. “Oh, really?” she said, stepping closer to her and squaring her shoulders. “Which one is it, then, smartass?”

Blanche took a step back, chuckling nervously. “Try to guess.”

“It’d better be ‘proud’,” said Candela, backing her up against a wall and blocking her in with both arms. Despite her aggressive posture, her expression was soft. “Otherwise, I’ll question just how intelligent you claim to be.”

“You’re insufferable, really,” Blanche told her.

“So are you.” Candela grinned and kissed her for the second time that morning, this time more slowly, with relish. Blanche found herself sinking into it at first, but her conscience wouldn’t let her lose herself completely. She turned her face away. At first, Candela took this as a sign to kiss her way down Blanche’s jaw, but – despite her aching desire to remain silent and let Candela have her fun – Blanche spoke around her quickening breath.

“Candela . . . there’s something I ought to tell you.”

Candela stopped. “Spark’s okay?” she checked again. “Everything’s okay?”

“I think so, but what I mean is—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish. They both heard the sound of people coming down the hall. Candela tensed and stepped back to stand amongst her assembled Pokémon again. Blanche joined her in the centre of the room, with Articuno at the ready.

But they soon relaxed when they saw who appeared in the doorway. Officer Jenny.

It would be red tape and repeated explanations for the rest of the day. Blanche supposed their talk would have to wait.


	6. Chapter 6

Blanche paced in her dorm room. Spark was recuperating nicely from his surgery, and she really was overdue to visit him. After Willow had heard everything that had happened, he’d given them all some time off to recover, and for some new tech hires to go over the recovered data. None of the (remaining, loyal) students were in any real hurry to finish their classes for the semester anyway.

She had to tell him. Both of them. It was only right.

She’d determined she wanted to tell Spark first because she was fairly certain he would take it a little better. Even if he was hurt by the revelation, she gathered he would still want to be friends at the very least.

She was more worried about Candela. Candela liked to be top dog in everything, which likely included love. She probably wouldn’t like that she shared space in Blanche’s heart with Spark.

Perhaps if she told Spark first, she could let him know that Candela would likely not want anything to do with her after telling her anyway?

No, that made him sound like a consolation prize. He wasn’t. He was sweet, ridiculous, beautiful Spark and she could no longer imagine her life without him . . . even if she had sort of spent the last few days avoiding him. A bit.

But it definitely hurt to think of hurting Candela, and losing her. Breathtaking, noble, big-hearted Candela. It was definitely scariest to think of telling her. Even if it only meant that Candela would cooly reject her, or admit to only being interested on a physical level anyway.

Spark first. Definitely Spark first.

She would approach the door, then hesitate and return to pacing. She did this a few times, before finally stopping in her tracks, huffing, and scolding herself.

“You’re better than this adolescent nonsense, Blanche,” she grumbled.

So she went to the door, opened it, and slammed it behind her.

Then remembered she forgot the cookies she’d intended the bring, so she had to go back and get them.

She took the elevator to Spark’s floor, and regretted it the whole way because it gave her time to stand idly and think and worry, and the opening of the elevator doors just filled her with dread.

The rest of the route to Spark’s dorm was like a death march. But when she reached his door, she found it slightly ajar rather than closed, and heard Spark groan.

Worry for him overtook worry for herself, and she pushed the door open the rest of the way, peering into the darkened room, fearing he may have hurt himself, or that someone may have attacked him.

She was . . . perhaps a quarter right, if one looked at it a certain way.

Spark was lying on his couch, with his bandaged arm dangling off to one side. His undamaged hand was cupping the face of Candela, who was perched astride him, sucking and biting at his neck, just above his collar bone. His hips, clad in jeans that were clearly too tight for his current comfort situation, were practically begging for contact with hers, but she kept hers lifted high enough to keep him well teased. Not to mention, to give Blanche quite a view of what she was clearly _not_ wearing beneath the minidress that had long ago ridden far to high up her thighs for modesty to be of any further concern.

Spark murmured some filthy encouragements to Candela, pulled her face up to his and kissed her fiercely, which she returned with equal enthusiasm. Only on opening his eyes to make eye contact with Candela did he realize someone was standing at his door behind her, and awkwardly shifted up into something more like a sitting position.

“Whooooa, heeyyyy, Blanche,” he said, emphasizing her name for Candela’s benefit. Candela followed his gaze to the door, but she had none of the concern in her expression that Spark had in his.

“Hello, Blanche,” she purred, looking for all the world like a triumphant tigress standing over her captured prey.

Blanche was frozen for a moment, but quickly tossed the cookies through the door and uttered some apologies for disturbing them before rushing for the stairs.

“No, Blanche, wait!” she heard Spark call down the hall after her. She thought she could hear Candela’s voice as well, but she wasn’t as certain. Candela’s voice was quieter than Spark’s.

Blanche took the stairs this time, running as fast as she could down the stairs and out of the building. Not because it was the logical choice, but simply because it was where her instincts were taking her. She didn’t think. She didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know what to feel. Other than utter mortification, apparently, which she couldn’t quite understand on a rational level, because really, they were the ones who hadn’t closed the door.

She ran to GO labs, and to the student lounge, where she collapsed into the couch to catch her breath. Her mind was spinning. She could feel her phone buzzing in her pocket but didn’t answer, even as it just kept going, with call after call and text after text.

She didn’t feel she had a right to be jealous. Really, the situation could easily have been reversed with either one of them. Nonetheless, something hurt. Maybe just the knowledge that she’d missed her chance. She’d been too cold and they’d lost interest, and found an interest in each other instead.

She didn’t want to deal with this. She could work. There was work to be done, so she’d do it.

They found her about an hour later, staring at her tablet. She didn’t have any of her social media accounts on it since it was strictly for work, so she’d been able to block out their attempts to get in touch with her by burying her phone under the couch cushion.

She’d just been staring at the tablet, though. Not doing much else.

“Blanche?” It was Candela’s voice, sounding . . . cautious.

“Mm?” said Blanche, not looking up from her screen.

“Um . . . can we come in?”

Blanche felt intensely uncomfortable with that, but she supposed there was no avoiding it at this point. “If you like,” she said.

“She’s mad at us. I told you—” said Spark from behind her, but she shushed him. She led Spark into the room, and they sat at the table nearest to the couch, but with enough space between them and her for relative comfort.

“Um,” began Candela, somewhat awkwardly. “So, I know you’re probably upset with us, and you have a right to be—”

Blanche looked up at her then. Now seeing them for the first time since Spark’s living room, she could see that they still looked disheveled. Candela’s dress had clearly been hastily straightened and her lipstick was smudged. Spark had hickeys all over his neck and his hair was more all over the place than usual. And he was wearing smudged lipstick, too.

“I’m not,” she said.

“Blanche, don’t do this,” said Spark. “Please don’t close us out.”

“I’m not,” said Blanche. “I’m just telling the truth. I’m not upset with you. You don’t need to apologize for anything.” She smiled at them. “I’m happy for you both. This is the best possible outcome.”

Candela cast a confused look at Spark, who looked equally lost.

“Exactly what ‘outcome’ are you referring to?” Candela asked, slowly.

Blanche really didn’t want to go into this.

“You,” she said. “Together. Given the way you’re talking, I’m sure each of you is aware that the other has had some . . . passing moments with me.” Blanche shrugged, “And if you’re okay with that, then so am I. I realize I’m difficult to get close to, and I don’t blame you for seeing more possibilities with each other than with me.” She held up her hands. “You have my blessing, so please, I’d like to stop talking about this intensely awkward subject now.”

“No, no, Blanche,” Candela gasped and, half crouching, rushed to her side and sat down beside her, taking her face in her hands. “Blanche, that’s not what happened.”

“We are the worst,” Spark groaned into his hands.

“Blanche . . . we’ve been dishonest with you, but . . . not intentionally, exactly. Spark and I . . . we’ve been together a while. Like . . . since Orientation.”

“Arguably it started when we were sixteen,” said Spark. “But yeah, we kind of lost touch after the first date and . . . struck things back up when we met again here.”

Blanche’s muscles felt tense. Once again she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Mostly just anxious. Maybe a bit trapped. Somewhat sick. But the information was interesting, and she kept listening, silently.

“We kind of had this agreement . . . I knew from the beginning that he’s had a puppydog crush on you for years, and . . . well, honestly, I realized pretty quickly that I really couldn’t blame him.” She pulled her hands from Blanche’s face, since Blanche wasn’t letting her pull it in her direction, and wrung her fingers instead. “We like being together, but . . . we also both really like you.”

“Um, love,” said Spark. “Say love. It’s love.”

“ _Really_ like you,” said Candela, both more forcefully and more nervously.

“She’s got some emotional intimacy issues. We’re working on them.”

“He tends to jump the gun a little, you get used to it.”

Spark sat down on Blanche’s opposite side. “Blanche, I never meant to keep anything from you. I was always planning to just . . . sit you down and tell you what was going on, but it never seemed like the right time, and I still wasn’t totally sure if you were even interested, and I didn’t want to creep you out . . . . ”

“And I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t serious, because I am,” added Candela. “It’s not . . . just physical with you. I don’t say that to many people. I think of you and I feel soft and warm and I just . . . want to cradle you and wrap you up in a blanket and tell you all the things about you that are so amazing, like how cool you always are, and how even in spite of playing it cool you’re still so sweet and openly affectionate with your Pokémon, and your eyes so often look sad and I like being the one to make them happy sometimes, and you have such a wicked sense of humour under all that seriousness and it’s so cute when it comes out. But instead I just end up kind of throwing myself at you because that’s easier.” She stared down at her fingers, twiddling them. “It’s like he said, I have some emotional intimacy problems.”

Spark grabbed Blanche’s hand. “We’re terrible and we’re here acknowledging that we’re terrible but also that we love you and we hope you can forgive us for being terrible, and we totally understand if you want nothing more to do with our terrible asses even if it’ll crush our souls a little tiny bit.”

“Yeah,” said Candela. She poked Blanche’s arm. “I mean . . . you won our bet, right? Just like you said. You never lose.” She chuckled, mirthlessly, and trailed her finger down Blanche’s arm, back into her lap. “So, I mean . . . if your one request is just, y’know, ‘Never talk to me again’ . . . then I’ll honour that.” She shrugged. “I mean, I’d honour it anyway, but . . . . ”

Candela trailed off into silence, and nobody else spoke for several long minutes. Candela and Spark both sat back, giving a still-rigid Blanche space to process everything.

When Blanche finally spoke, it was to ask, “I won?”

Candela huffed a laugh. “Yeah,” she said. “You were still in the lead at the end. I mean, we won’t have the full official count yet until they work through all the hacked devices and everything, but . . . yeah. You’re pretty much the winner, as of the end of the semester.”

“It’s not definite?”

“I’d . . . more or less call it in your favour,” said Candela. “I figure, if nothing else, I owe you that much.”

“Hm.” Blanche paused, then nodded, seemingly at nothing. “So you’ll honour any request?”

Candela sucked in a deep breath, and it shuddered on its way out. “Any one,” she agreed.

“Me too,” said Spark. “I mean, I wasn’t part of the bet, but . . . I’m with her. I’ll honour whatever you ask of me.”

Another long silence followed.

“You were right, Candela,” she said after some time. “I didn’t know what I wanted, back when we first made the bet.” She sat up a little straighter, still staring straight ahead, not looking at either one of them. “I think I do now, though.”

“Okay,” said Candela. She sounded resigned. Blanche turned to look at her, finding her expression just as pained as her voice.

“My request . . . ” Blanche said, her voice quieting with every word, until it was more of a barely-intelligible mumble. “ . . . is . . . will you take me to dinner?”

Candela squinted, and leaned closer. “W . . . what?”

Blanche ducked her head, and asked again, still quietly, but with better enunciation. “I-I . . . I’d like you to take me to dinner. As my request.”

Candela’s eyes flashed from Blanche to Spark to Blanche again. “Take you to dinner?”

Blanche nodded.

“Um. Y-yeah, yeah I can do that.” She was wringing her hands again. “So, um . . . just the dinner, then? Kind of a . . . parting thing?”

Blanche tilted her head. “Did I say that?”

“No . . . . ”

“I figured you’d like the idea, since you were the one who first suggested it. Is it too much trouble?”

“No! No, um. Y-you mean right now?”

Blanche looked Candela up and down. “Well, I would hope you’d clean up a bit first,” she said, wrinkling her nose slightly. Then she shrugged, playing nonchalant. “But I am free tonight, if you are.”

Candela looked like she wasn’t sure if it was okay to get excited, but she really wanted to. “So . . . we’re okay, then?”

“Don’t see why we wouldn’t be.”

She felt Candela’s weight shift beside her, and then she was no longer beside, but astride her. She was holding her face again, and bending to press their foreheads together. “You’re infuriating,” she told her before smothering her in a fierce kiss. Then several more, in what might have been an unending series until Spark piped up with,

“Um . . . so . . . me too?”

Blanche’s head lolled in his direction as Candela carried on kissing her, and she tugged her face just far enough free of Candela’s attentions to say, “I don’t know. Candela, can Spark come, too?”

Candela captured Blanche’s lips again, smiling now, and keeping her kisses lighter and shorter. “Hmm,” she said. “I don’t know.” She gave Blanche’s lower lip a little nibble. “He offered you a request of his own, didn’t he? For free?” She pulled back a little, stroking Blanche’s hair out of her eyes. “I think it might be more fun if he offered you something else, don’t you? I don’t mind taking the both of you anyway, but . . . maybe we can think of something else for him to do for you later. If you’re interested, of course.”  


Blanche took longer than she needed to considering the idea. “Hm,” she said. “Instead of later . . . perhaps now.”

“Yeah?” asked Candela, combing her fingers idly through Blanche’s hair. “What would you like him to do for you?”

“I think . . . ” said Blanche, “I think I’d like him to trust his instincts. See if he can find out for himself.”

Spark grinned, and pulled forward. Candela, taking her cue, settled backward to give him room. He didn’t straddle Blanche the way Candela had, but he leaned close to her, and drew her face nearer to his with little more than a gentle beckoning gesture.

“What my instincts tell me,” he said, “Is this is all really sudden for you. And . . . a lot has happened over the past few days, and you’re not even fully sure where your head is at right now, but you’re trying to make everything fall neatly into place.” He brushed his fingers under her chin, across her jaw, back down towards her lips. “I’m feeling like . . . you don’t want anything too crazy right now, even if you think you do. You just want something that will reassure you that the world is okay. That you’re okay.”

Blanche neither confirmed nor denied. She just kept watching his face, and leaning into his touch.

“My instincts are saying,” he said, “That this is enough.”

He closed the last few inches between them, kissing her tenderly. Reverently, even. But he didn’t linger too long, despite seeming to want to rather desperately. As his lips parted from hers, he nuzzled her a bit before pulling back completely.

Blanche, still in a heady daze, couldn’t quite process speech for a moment. When words did come forward, they didn’t seem to come anywhere near her brain.

“What are your instincts telling you now?” she asked before realizing she’d even thought it, let alone out loud.

His eyebrows shot up. “That . . . that was super-effective?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, launching herself at him with the intent of returning his kiss a thousand-fold. She got a few in, at least, to which he responded with great enthusiasm before pushing her back upright and gesturing Candela towards them. Candela crawled over Blanche and met Spark’s lips with hers, murmuring words of praise to him any time they paused for breath. Just as Blanche began to wonder if they were forgetting about her, Candela pulled back, luring Spark along with her by the shirt collar. Claiming Blanche’s left side for herself, Candela gently licked at Blanche’s earlobe and murmured into it, “He’s being all sweet and romantic now, but you just have to tease him enough,” she conspired, non-too-quietly. “Get him riled up enough, and he’s an absolute demon in the sack. Don’t worry, though, I know how to keep him tame.”

“Not gonna happen tonight, Candela,” said Spark, even as he pecked and nibbled at Blanche’s right ear, then just underneath it, evoking a whimper from Blanche.

“Mm, but she wants it,” said Candela, her hand roaming up under Blanche’s shirt, leading a trail of goosebumps up her ribcage.

“She’s not in the right headspace,” he insisted, still amusing himself with that little spot just between her ear and her neck that responded so well to his teeth.

Blanche wasn’t even sure what a headspace was at that point, nor was she particularly certain she could pronounce her own name. She was, however, coherent enough to notice that the door was swinging further open, and someone new had entered the room just as Spark licked a long trail up the side of her throat and Candela’s fingers toyed with her nipple, both of which succeeded in coaxing a long whine from her.

“I thought I heard your voices,” Willow had been saying as he waltzed into the room with his eyes fixed on a tablet. As soon as he heard Blanche’s moan, however, his eyes darted upward, then he startled and cringed and made a bit of an amusing “Geh!” noise.

Spark and Candela threw themselves to opposite ends of the couch, leaving Blanche still panting in the middle, trying to quickly pull her mind back together. She was sure something about this would be cause for much embarrassment later.

“Didn’t think you were still here, Professor,” said Candela, conversationally yet breathlessly.

“ . . . There’s a lot of work to do,” he said, stiffly. “Didn’t think any of you were here, either. You’re on break. Shouldn’t you be . . . literally anywhere else?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Spark, crossing his legs and clearing his throat. “Yeah, we were, um, just heading out. For some dinner.”

Willow just stared at him for a moment, then said, “Uh-huh. Just heading out, you said? Great.” He saluted them with his tablet, stepping backward out the door again. “Well, have fun. Be safe.”

“You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like, sir.” The words came from Blanche. She’d just said them. She could feel Spark and Candela’s eyes, likely wide, fall on her simultaneously, but she tried to keep her expression neutral and her voice level, even as she knew her cheeks were still stained with a heavy blush, and her breath was still coming quick and heavy.

Willow’s eyes fell on her as well, and scanned her over once before something dark flickered across his gaze. Then he cleared his throat, and shook his head. “Er, no, thanks, Blanche,” he said. “You kids have a good time. See you . . . after the break. Take a full month after the break, actually. We’ll start again in February. February sounds . . . good.”

“You’re so generous, Daddy,” Spark gushed. Then, hearing himself, he stammered, “I-I mean sir. I mean Professor. Daddy sir. Why can’t I stop talking?”

Willow stepped back the rest of the way through the door, closing it as he did so. Before the door shut completely, they heard him mutter, “I didn’t sign up for this mess . . . . ”

They all sat for a moment after that, staring wide-eyed at the closed door.

“I think that went better than expected,” said Blanche after a pregnant pause.

“I think we need to make it clear that if ever given the opportunity, any one or more of us is allowed to let Professor Willow have his wicked way with them,” said Spark.

“Oh, absolutely,” said Candela.

“I don’t think he’s ever even going to be comfortable looking at us again,” moaned Blanche, her head sinking into her hands as reality became coherent again.

“Oh, I think he will,” Candela grinned, and nibbled on her fingernail a little. “It might not be until after we finish our degrees, but . . . oh, he’ll do more than look, I’m sure.”

Blanche just groaned and curled further into herself. She felt Spark’s arm drape over her shoulders and squeeze, followed by Candela’s doing the same.

“Welcome to the family, baby,” said Candela. Spark kissed her temple. Blanche sighed.


End file.
